


Noonwraith

by Lupus_22



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Canon-Typical Violence, Ciri is a witcher, Inspired by The Witcher, Noonwraith, Not Beta Read, Slavic Folklore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-05-19 11:10:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19355845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lupus_22/pseuds/Lupus_22
Summary: Just a short thing about Ciri fighting a monster on a summer day I wanted to write, slightly canon divergent- Ciri is a witcher here and can use signs.





	Noonwraith

 Later they said that she rode out of the forest on a horse blacker than night, her silver sword shining brightly in the sun as she cut down the monster's head in one swift movement, quicker than any human had a right to be. Others said that she emerged from between the willows, stepping carefully like a cat and burned the creature with a quickly whispered word and a magic sign, a wave of purple flames emerging from her hand. Some even tried to claim that she was the Butcher from Blaviken in a magically changed form, the ashen white hair and a glimpse of a silver medallion enough of a proof for them.

    Truth was, Ciri got lost. Kelpie was tired, even her demonic strength draining out much faster in the sudden surge of heat that seemed to have overtaken the better part of Velen, drying out creeks and slowing down rivers, sending monsters and people alike out of their usual homes and liars in a desperate search for even slightly colder weather. She was travelling for what felt like weeks, though in reality she couldn't have been on the road more than a few days, before stumbling upon a small village called Bieniowa tucked away between two hills, hidden from the main tract leading to Novigrad. It seemed lovely, the wooden houses with small gardens and flowers painted around the doorways a much appreciated change from damp swamps and bloodstained monster caves. She wanted to stop there, go to an inn if there was one, let Kelpie eat something better than the roadside grass and get at least one night's sleep in a proper bed. 

    It seemed though that the universe had different ideas, the alarming vibrations of her medallion starting as soon as she got close to the fields surrounding the area.The air was hot and heavy, clinging to exposed skin and sucking out every last bit of moisture, forcing the village folk out of the fields and into the relative comfort of shadows under the willow trees growing alongside the dusty, narrow road. Some said it led to Novigrad, but no one from Bieniowa ever traveled that far, no one ever needed to. Their fields were right here, separated from the road by a small wooden fence, the crops just starting to turn ready to be reaped, swaying in the almost unnoticeable wind like a sea of gold and green. It was nearing noon, the sun shining mercilessly down onto the earth, the bright blue sky clear with no sign of clouds that could bring the rain, so desperately needed. Everyone was quiet, too exhausted from the hard work to talk, just passing around jugs of water, their scythes left leaning against the trees above their heads. 

    From afar, or even just for someone walking along the dirty road, the scene on the side of the fields could seem almost idyllic, just like in all the poems and songs so famously sang by minstrels in castles. But for someone with a more keen eye or perhaps a mind more alert to the unusual so often hidden in plain sight, the somewhat unnatural tension in the atmosphere would be hard to miss, the world around them feeling like a tightly wound string that is about to snap. If asked, no one would be able to tell what it is- something just felt wrong, the ever-present feeling of evil eyes drilling into the backs of people working on the fields. No one wouldn't be able to explain why the village folk refused to look at the fields exactly at noon either, it was just something they always did, as natural to them as stepping on the other side of the road when passing near the old, broken cross that now was part of the fence surrounding their fields.

    Ciri wasn't sure what it was either, the only clues she had being her medallion, the waves of hot air blurring everything above the wheat fields too much even for her cat-like eyes to see any details. The only thing she could notice, just as the village folk turned their heads away like on a silent command, was a whirl of white and silver, slowly raising above the crops like a cloud of smoke. For a moment, she thought it's just a hallucination caused by the unbearable heat and stagnant air, but then the blurry whirl let out a blood-curling scream, carrying way over to the hills behind her, just as she felt a strong, angry presence focusing its' attention on her. She took a deep breath and centered her focus just as Vesemir taught her before reaching over her shoulder to grab the well-worn hilt of her sword, the long blade glistening with silver and magic runes, before swiftly jumping over the small wooden fence, the fingers of her free hand forming the Yrden sign almost on instinct.

    The creature moved closer too, letting out another scream and circling around in the field, although a lot slower than before, giving Ciri time to watch it for a moment. It took a shape of a dried out corpse of a woman in a wedding dress, long and tattered pieces of once white fabric flowing behind it in the wheat, its' skeleton head decorated with a ring of dried flowers and thistle, two rusted sickles glistening in its' hands. It wasn't the most terrifying monster Ciri ever faced, but something about its' shape and the jaw-less skull with a long, sickly green tongue curling out from beneath it and the soul-piercing screams made her want to just turn away and run, as fast as she could, the further away from the fields and the heat, the better. She didn't though, remembering what other witchers told her about noonwraiths- they preyed on fear of surprised farmers, either cutting them down and drying out their bodies or trapping them in a never ending game of puzzles and questions till their hearts stopped from the heat.

    Instead, she raised up her free hand, casting the Yrden sign, a purple and silver ring immediately forming around the creature, trapping it in place and causing it to turn to her with a snarl, the empty eye sockets drilling straight into her soul. Ciri blinked, trying to ignore the heat that seemed to get even more intense, and grabbed her sword with both hands, swirling it around in a practiced motion before attacking the wraith, so fast that for anyone watching her movement would be no more than just a blur and a speckle of silver, the blade narrowly missing the creature's arm as it flailed angrily within the bounds of the sign. It screamed again, this time with a hint of desperation, its' tongue swishing wildly from side to side  before attacking with both sickles, the blade edges seeming unbelievably sharp in contrast to the ruined state of the weapons. Ciri avoided the attack by sidestepping in a way that felt like a second nature to her, paying no mind to the crops she was stomping over, and raised her sword up once again, trying to cut through the wraith's arm, the silver runes on her blade glowing reassuringly, weakening the monster's resistance to what would otherwise be an ineffective attack.     

    The scream that erupted from the creature as the silver touched its' body was the worst one so far, loud, screeching and echoing in the near by hills, causing the farmers on the side to fearfully glance at the fields, blinking in disbelief and reaching for their holy symbols at the sight of a fight. Even Ciri had to step away for a moment and focus on keeping her grip on the sword, her medallion almost jumping around on her neck from the sheer force of its' vibrations. She didn't try to attack again, as it seemed that even with the silver embedded into her blade, the damage she dealt to the wraith was not enough to weaken it, and instead raised her left hand up towards her opponent, her fingers easily falling into the familiar shape of the Aard sign, a wave of telekinetic energy pushing the creature further away from her and bending the wheat down towards the ground. 

    After a few minutes that felt almost like hours and narrowly avoiding deathly blows from the rusty sickles and the poisonous tongue, Ciri managed to hit the noonwraith with a luckily timed blow of magical fire from the Igni sign, causing the creature to fall to the ground unmoving, now just looking like a long-dead woman, a torn and blooded veil tangled into the flower crown.She took a deep breath, noticing that the vibrations of her medallion have almost stopped now, and sheathed her sword before slowly making her way to the group of the farmers, still frozen in place under the willow trees near the road. They were watching carefully as she walked closer, her leather jacket now covered in more scratches and with a few of the silver studs missing, and stopped near the old, broken cross that everyone tried to pay no attention to.

    -A woman was buried there, in secret and with no blessings. -she told them quietly, carefully touching one of the wooden planks. -Find out who she was and burn her bones, so she can find peace.

    She waited for them to nod in acknowledgement before summoning Kelpie with a whistle and hopping on the horse's back without adding anything else, heading straight to the direction she first came from, one of Geralt's remarks echoing in her head as she felt the weight of the farmers' eyes drilling into her back.

    _Leave as soon as you kill the monster that was plaguing them, because the moment it's gone, they'll start seeing you as another one._


End file.
